Memories of the Past

"This is a golden opportunity, my friends," Ra'zirr said, his eyes glinting as he looked at the five people before him. "Gold, jewels, treasure beyond your wildest dreams, just waiting to be taken. All there for those with the courage to reach out."

"Where did you hear about this so-called treasure?" Lucan Varro asked, always the skeptical one of the group.

"Yes, Ra'zirr, tell us," Seren Edril added, her voice edged with suspicion, her crimson Dunmer eyes narrowing as she fixed them on the Khajiit. "How do we know this won't end up like last time, hmm? When you dragged us into that whole miserable affair in the Talos District?"

"Yeah," Tavain, the youngest of the group, chimed in. "I almost lost an arm that day... and you were almost set on fire, Ra'zirr."

"Only my tail caught on fire," Ra'zirr said defensively, flicking the tuft of his tail. He gave an exaggerated shrug. "Besides, Ra'zirr still has his tail, yes? So no harm done."

Ra'zirr then turned his gaze to the large man lounging in the large, cushioned chair, a red-haired Breton woman snuggled close at his side.

"Are you lovebirds listening, Mira, Harald?" Ra'zirr asked, his whiskers twitching with amusement. "Or must Ra'zirr repeat himself, hmm? Treasure does not wait forever, yes?"

Harald shifted slightly, his green eyes meeting Ra'zirr's with a calm stare. "Yes, Ra'zirr, we heard you," he said with a sigh. "But we're not interested. Not this time."

Ra'zirr's ears flattened against his head in frustration, his golden eyes widening with disbelief. "Ra'zirr cannot believe this!" he hissed. "How many times has Ra'zirr helped you, yes? Ra'zirr helped you steal those dusty spellbooks when you needed them. Ra'zirr helped train you to be warriors. Ra'zirr even helped with your strange requests—all these years—no questions asked! And now, you doubt Ra'zirr's intentions?"

Mira leaned closer to Harald and whispered something in his ear, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Ra'zirr before focusing back on her lover. Harald nodded, his face showing the faintest hint of a smile.

"I am not doubting your intentions, Ra'zirr," Harald replied after a moment, his voice calm. "But that part of the city... it's dangerous, especially any Ayleid ruins beneath it."

Ra'zirr waved his hand dismissively, his claws extending briefly in impatience. "No, no, it is not dangerous, no," he insisted, shaking his head vigorously. "You see, Ra'zirr has heard things from the dockworkers at the Waterfront District. They speak of this ruin, a place no one dares to enter."

"Because it's dangerous," Seren interjected, her arms folded.

Ra'zirr ignored her, continuing with excitement. "Everyone is scared to go in. They say the place is haunted, or cursed, or some such nonsense—but Ra'zirr does not believe these old stories. No one has truly explored it yet, yes? And those same dockworkers claim to have seen things. Sparkling things. Gold, jewels, treasure. Just waiting, untouched, for someone with enough courage to take it."

He grinned, his sharp teeth showing beneath his whiskers, his eyes alight with mischief and greed. "So, friends, why should we let fear keep us away? Treasure beyond our wildest dreams, and no one else has dared to claim it. It is there for the taking, and Ra'zirr thinks we are the ones to take it, yes?"

"How are you sure about this treasure?" Mira asked, her eyes skeptical as she looked over at Ra'zirr.

"The dockworkers, when they found the ruins, discovered a large stash of gold at the entrance," he replied, his voice growing more eager, ears twitching with excitement. "Imagine what could be inside!"

Tavian's eyes widened, a glimmer of curiosity lighting his young face. "Piles of gold, you say?" he asked, a grin beginning to form.

Seren exchanged a glance with Lucan, her red eyes losing some of their earlier suspicion. "Already sounds better than our usual jobs," she said.

Lucan gave a slow nod, a smirk crossing his lips. "Maybe Ra'zirr isn't completely mad this time."

Harald frowned. "It's an Ayleid ruin—one in the city itself. Those are classified as some of the most dangerous ones in all of Tamriel."

"That is all just to keep us away from the treasure, can't you see?" Ra'zirr said, his tail flicking behind him as his whiskers twitched with irritation. "All the talk of danger, of curses and haunted halls—just tales to scare fools. Meanwhile, they plan to take the treasure for themselves while we stay frightened like kittens." He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing, his voice gaining a sharper edge. "But Ra'zirr is not so easily fooled, no. We will not let them keep us away. We go, we take what they want for themselves, and we make it ours. They think they can scare us? Ha, they are mistaken."

"Who is 'they'?" Harald asked incredulously.

Mira leaned in closer, placing a hand on Harald's arm, her eyes softening. "Harald," she murmured, "why don't we just explore part of it? Just a small venture. If what Ra'zirr says is true, we won't get a chance like this again."

Harald shook his head, unconvinced. "Love... it's too risky. Like I said, I have read about the Ayleid ruins that were found and explored in the city. Even the most skilled of mages and warriors have..." Harald did not finish but was stopped by how Mira looked at him.

She gave him a pleading look, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Please, Harald? Do it for me." She reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek, then pressed a soft kiss there. "If we find even a fraction of what Ra'zirr says, we could finally go to Anvil, buy that mansion we saw. We could have a real life, Harald."

Harald looked at her, his resolve softening, but his worry remained.

"Ra'zirr needs you, Harald," Ra'zirr spoke again, his voice softer now, almost sincere. "Ra'zirr cannot do this without you, no. You are the best of us, always have been. Always the fastest, always the one to come up with strange plans and ideas—Ra'zirr has seen it time and time again."

"And you know the Ayleids better than anyone, even more than those so-called scholars. Who else could lead us through their secrets but you? Come now, Harald—Ra'zirr trusts you. We all do."

Harald sighed. He looked from Mira to Ra'zirr, then to the eager expressions on Tavian, Seren, and Lucan's faces.

"Fine," Harald finally said, his voice resigned. "Let's go."

Harald Watched his friends celebrate his decision with a smile but then he paused for a moment, a chill suddenly creeping up his spine. Something about this felt wrong. His eyes darted around the room, then back to Mira.

"No," he said abruptly, his face paling as a strange realization dawned on him. "No, I've changed my mind. We are not going."

But the others didn't seem to hear him. They were still talking excitedly amongst themselves, Mira laughing softly, Seren and Lucan nodding in agreement with Ra'zirr.

Harald frowned, his unease growing. He spoke louder this time. "I said we're not going! Mira!" He called her name, his voice rising in panic. But she didn't respond. She was still looking at Ra'zirr, her lips moving silently.

"Mira?" he repeated, his heart starting to race.

He turned to Ra'zirr, who continued speaking as if Harald wasn't even there. The others were all talking, their voices blending into an unintelligible murmur, growing distant and hollow.

Harald tried to move, but his body felt heavy, as though weighed down by an unseen force. He struggled, his surroundings darkening, the walls of the room fading into shadows.

"No... No... No...?" he gasped, his panic swelling as the light around him grew dimmer. Then there it was—the two blood-red eyes, staring at him from the darkness, a gaze that pierced straight through him.

His heart thundered in his chest, his breath caught in his throat as the eyes grew larger, the darkness swallowing everything else.

"Oh look... this one's still breathing too," a voice said in a sweetly mocking tone—words he could never forget.

Suddenly, he jolted awake, his chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. His eyes darted around wildly, taking in his surroundings. He tried to remember where he was, then realized he was in one of the chambers in the tower in Fairmarket, far away from the Imperial City, from Cyrodiil, from Tamriel.

He sat staring at the stone wall, trying to forget the dream. He did not want to remember that memory—never. The past was something he kept buried, but every now and then, it clawed its way back up to haunt him.

Harald got out of bed, stretching his body. His joints cracked, and his muscles loosened from the tightness of sleep. He reached for a potion on the table beside him and gulped it down—one of the many he had consumed over the two weeks since freeing Fairmarket.

He was beginning to be freed from the pain that had persisted since he had arrived in the Riverlands, pain rooted in the grueling gauntlet he had fought through—from Skuldafn to Sovngarde, culminating in the final confrontation with Alduin. His body bore the burden of that struggle, the weariness lingering long after the battle had ended.

Harald held out his hand and cast a spell that conjured a shimmering mirror before him. It hung in the air, almost ethereal, reflecting his image.

He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes tracing over the lines and details of his body. His muscular frame had mostly healed—the bruises and cuts were all gone. Only the scars remained, white lines crisscrossing his skin that told the story of every battle he had fought and survived.

His gaze fell upon the large scar on his throat. His hand brushed over it, feeling the ridged texture of the healed wound. It reminded him of the dream, a memory he had buried deep, one he never wanted to face again. Harald quickly stopped, pulling his hand away, his jaw tightening. Enough. He did not need to dwell on it.

Turning from the mirror, Harald moved toward his satchel, rummaging through its contents. He pulled out a set of fine clothes—the finest from Radiant Raiment in Solitude. The rich fabric, soft against his fingers, was stitched with intricate golden designs. He dressed himself, adjusting the collar of the tunic.

One thing he had noticed since arriving here in Westeros was how his shouts had grown weaker. Even for Unrelenting Force, which he could once use with only a single word to devastating effect, he now had to employ all three words to achieve the same power.

He remembered the strength he had wielded before facing Alduin—how potent his shouts had become. The Greybeards and Paarthurnax had told him that his power would only grow with time, that the Thu'um was like a muscle to be exercised. But now, it seemed he was back to where he had been when he first learned to shout.

Harald's brow furrowed, determination sharpening his gaze. He moved to the center of the room, taking in a deep breath.

"LAAS... YAH... NIR!"

The shout reverberated through the room, the power of the words flowing out of him, filling the space. His vision shifted; the world around him began to glow, highlighting every living being in a bright red aura. Every soul, every heartbeat in the tower and beyond—in the town itself—lit up like flames against a gray backdrop.

Harald smirked, his lips curling at the edges. It seemed he would not have to worry after all. His strength was returning, albeit slowly, and he would have to keep this in mind for the future. He did not want to accidentally overdo a shout and cause unintended destruction.

He walked out of the chamber, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone as he descended the winding stairway of the tower. As he walked down, he passed several servants—some who had served Haldon, their loyalty shifting quickly after his death, and others from the town who had offered their service willingly once he had claimed the tower as his own.

After killing Haldon and the rest of the Ironborn in Fairmarket, he had spent the next few days securing the surrounding lands, rooting out and chasing off any remnants of Haldon's men who might pose a threat. He even visited Ironholt again, finding it now filled with Ironborn survivors from Fairmarket. He had quickly dispatched them, and now volunteers from the town guarded it.

So far, everything had progressed smoothly: Haldon dead, hostages freed, Ironborn being hunted and chased out of the Blackwood lands.

Yet recently, something had been bothering him. A small part of him nagged that leaning into the 'Champion of the Gods' narrative had been a mistake. He was no stranger to being treated the way the townsfolk treated him now—with reverence, with awe, as if he were something more than a man. Ever since he found out he was Dragonborn, as the tales of his adventures spread across Skyrim, people had looked at him the same way the townsfolk of Fairmarket looked at him—as if he were a king; some even dared to see him as a god, especially zealous followers of Talos.

A larger part of him, though he would not admit it, loved it. There was something intoxicating about power, about the respect, the fear, and the adoration that came with it. It was a strange feeling. Harald had only realized it was in his very nature—the nature of his dragon soul—during his long talks with Paarthurnax, the ancient dragon who had become his friend and mentor.

"Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?" Paarthurnax's words echoed in Harald's mind, a reminder of the truth he could not deny.

Just like dragons, he had an innate urge to acquire power, to control others—something he had tried to suppress for as long as he could, even before discovering that he was Dragonborn.

A small voice in his head whispered to him to leave once Harren Hoare was dealt with and the Riverlands were free from the Ironborn's grasp. He could envision a peaceful life somewhere far away, away from the chaos.

But there was also a deep, primal part of him—the more draconic side—that urged him to remain, to seize more, to become more. And for now, that part of him was winning out.

As he exited the tower, the sunlight greeted him, and Harald's eyes caught sight of someone approaching. He smiled, seeing Jonnel making his way across the courtyard, his expression bright.

"Harald!" Jonnel called out, his tone cheerful as he came closer.

"Jonnel," Harald greeted, returning the smile. "How is your brother?" he asked.

Jonnel's younger brother, Brynden, had been in bad shape when they found him, beaten by some Ironborn when he had attempted to escape. Harald had healed the boy physically, but he was still scarred mentally, especially after years of being a hostage.

Jonnel's smile widened at the question, relief evident in his eyes. "Brynden went to Ironholt," he said. "He wanted to be there early to greet my father. He's in much better shape now, thanks to you."

"Your father will be here soon, then?" Harald inquired.

"Aye," Jonnel nodded, his smile growing even wider. "He should arrive before sunset. Brynden couldn't wait to meet him there—he wanted to be the first to tell him everything."

Harald smiled in response. After securing the town, he had commanded the maester to send ravens to Lords Mallister, Frey, and Blackwood, informing them of what had transpired. Thankfully, after some back-and-forth exchanges, they had all responded, each confirming that they would come to Fairmarket.

"Well then," Harald said, clapping Jonnel on the shoulder. "Let's give your father a proper greeting, shall we?"